


When The Lights Go Out

by DittyWrites



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mental Anguish, Mental Institutions, Police Brutality, demonic creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: Walter Johnson, loving husband and father, is a victim of the corrupt system which rules Gotham. Admitted to Arkham Asylum, he doubts his ability to survive such a heinous environment given his perfectly sane status. However, after a terrifying encounter with a man who appears anything but human, Walter soon comes to realise that there are things more dangerous than he could ever believe lurking within the walls of the asylum and his fear may be misplaced.(A 'Gotham Rogues as demonic creatures' AU told from the perspectives of the people unfortunate enough to encounter them.)





	When The Lights Go Out

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, i'm trying something a wee bit different here so i would really appreciate the read and also any feedback which you would be happy to provide. Unless you just wanna be mean lmao. If that's the case then mum's the word.
> 
> But genuinely, thank you to anyone who takes the time to read this because i am no fool and i know that non-shippy, alternate universe fics are not super popular so bless you xx

It was only as the beginning tendrils of the sun started to creep along the floor of his cell on the second day of incarceration at the asylum that Walter Johnson came to terms with the true nature of his plight.

Born in Gotham, he had survived twenty five summers within the city without incident or cause for distress. A miracle of sorts, given his dark skin and large build, which gave him a somewhat threatening appearance, but his mother had been wise and had imbued him with the skills to survive.

He knew when to keep a low profile, lest he be profiled, and he lived a good life.

However, unfortunate circumstance had led to the flashing red and blue lights unjustly dragging him from his short journey from work to home and even further poor luck had seen a confrontation with the police grow violent in nature. He never stood a chance.

Walter Johnson, loving husband and father of a year old son, found himself hauled into custody before he could even protest his innocence and explain the broken nose which he had given Officer Smythe in self-defence. One quick background check later and his history of depression, a history he assumed was his right to be kept private, had been broadcast to all present and it was quickly decided that Arkham Asylum would be a more appropriate holding cell than prison.

The look of vindication within the eyes of Officer Smythe as he was thrown into the back of the Asylum van was laced with an undeniable sadistic pleasure and Walter understood, in that moment, that he would be lucky to survive the events to come.

His first day within the asylum had been somewhat uneventful.

Or as uneventful as any first day within a true insane asylum could be.

Details were processed and his personal items were confiscated, including the photograph of his son, before he was led to his new cell to await a date for his trial. The cell in question was barely habitable with stone walls which allowed all heat to break free and provided a very bland view of the world. The bunk bed was almost as hard as the walls and the meagre blankets provided were just enough to keep illness at bay but nowhere near enough to provide true comfort.

The only saving grace was the emptiness of his room and his lack of apparent cellmate.

Despite the lack of amenities, the true fear which gripped at the heart of Walter, the fear which kept him from sleep on his first night, was the knowledge that nothing stood between him and the other denizens whom inhabited this wing. Each of the ten cells in the wing were surrounding a communal area which contained no provisions aside for some tables and chairs which had been bolted to the ground to ensure their position while each cell door was left lacking a lock to ensure the inmates within stayed put in any similar way.

Thoughts of attacks, heinous in nature, kept Walter conscious and his eyes unable to draw themselves away from the bars of his cell door. He was not a violent man but he could not speak for the others who surrounded him.

Standing from his lower bunk, his back screamed in protest at the movement and he stretched it out to alleviate the suffering. The low drone of others as they also awakened and set out about their daily routine drew his attention to his doorway and through the bars he could detect bodies beginning to mill around the communal area.

He did not want to leave his cell but the chance of being cornered in such a small space was not a desirable thought either.

Heart shuddering within his chest, he issued a quick prayer as the cell door slammed shut behind him.

x-x-x-x-x

The communal area was deceptively quiet.

The bolts which secured the rows of metal tables to the floor occasionally caught a glint from the sharp lighting above as Walter walked towards the nearest available empty table. Each edge of the table had been tactfully shaven and curved to ensure no sharp edges were available to the inmates while the unnatural cleanliness of the linoleum on the floor spoke of recent hastily-covered carnage.

No eyes sought Walter out and he responded in kind, keeping his gaze trained on the table before him and the clear spaces in which no inmates were lingering.

Around a dozen men were sharing his space.

Three, hunched together and speaking in hushed tones, were playing with a battered deck of cards so full of rips and holes that Walter could barely understand how they were able to understand the markings. Another two inmates were deep in discussion at a nearby table but their quietened tones and unapproachable air did not allow for any eavesdropping. The remaining men were littered around the room and each was engrossed in their own world, some keeping their hands busy with puzzles and bits of discarded paper, others content to simply stare into space.

All apparently too occupied to spare their attention.

For these reasons, or perhaps for others which we will never know, it was of little surprise that the sudden appearance of the man went unnoticed by all within the room.

Aside from Walter.

Blinking as the empty chair which his gaze had been filtering through was unexpectedly filled, Walter's surprise was so great that his elbow slipped from the table and scored against the shaved metal. Cursing in a light breath, he rubbed the afflicted area with the palm of his opposing hand as he glanced at the figure which had startled him.

Facing his direction, the man was without expression but his eyes were turned to the heavens in a show of penance. Tall as a post and almost as thin, it was difficult to guess at his extraordinary height but the most striking thing about his appearance was the absolute lack of apparent health. The knobbly bits of flesh which were visible to the eye, namely the hands and ankles, were paper white and thin enough that a regular sized-man could easily clasp two hands around them with room to spare. The asylum jumpsuit which hung from his frame only emphasised the lack of fill within it.

Sweeping his gaze up, Walter was not too surprised to find the face was no better.

A similar shade of white to the body and gaunt to the point of illness, his cheekbones were obscenely defined and his sharp chin seemed an inch too long for his face. Lips non existent or pursed so tightly that they may as well be, his nose was rather large for his thin face and gave the distinct impression of a bird of prey. His dark hair, which lay carelessly atop his head, was flecked with messy bursts of grey and white which only added to his sickly appearance.

As Walter's eyes dipped back to the face of the man, he swore his heart shuddered to a halt as he discovered the mans' gaze on his own, now aware of his unwitting appraisal. Black as coal and lacking any hint of human warmth despite the neutral expression, they were a desolate void and Walter could not deny the thrill of terror which shot up his spine as he held the empty stare.

After a moment which lasted an eternity, the man looked away and once again drew his eyes to the ceiling, leaving Walter to release a shaky breath which spoke volumes of his relief.

He should have stayed in his cell.

“INSPECTION!” A metallic voice pierced the air with a practised authority. “ROUTINE AREA INSPECTION! BACK TO YOUR CELLS YOU ANIMALS!”

Jumping in fright at the trill, Walter placed his hand over his heart as he stood. The frantic beating of the organ hummed against his palm through the shirt and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. It wouldn't pay to be jumpy within these walls as weakness could be taken advantage of.

As he slipped back into his cell, he dropped into the lower bunk and tucked his head within his hands. Thick fingers rubbed gently at his temples but he swore his heart shuddered to an unwilling stop as soft footsteps approached the area outside his cell.

His worst fears were confirmed when a thin hand pulled at his cell door, opening it fully, before stepping inside.

The man with the gaze of the void.

Body as stiff as the bed which it sat upon, Walter avoided the eye of the man as he swept into the room with a confident step before pausing to survey the minimalist lodgings. The slightest hint of disdain crept onto his face as a heavy silence fell.

Unsure of the etiquette one shared with a cellmate, Walter elected to be civil as he ignored the drumming of his heart in his ears.

“If you want this bunk,” he offered quietly, his steady voice betraying little of the turmoil inside, “then I don't mind moving up. It's six or half a dozen to me.”

Black eyes found his again.

“Or,” Walter faltered, “you can have the top. I'm just not...” Trailing off, his throat felt tight as that unwavering gaze continued to stare through him.

“I would prefer this one.”

Hoarse.

So hoarse in fact that Walter could almost feel the sensation of his own mouth drying out as he understood the words that the man had spoken. However, beneath the roughness of the tone there existed the ghost of an entirely different voice, one of utter professionalism, which reminded Walter immediately of the various doctors and well-educated individuals he had encountered in his short life.

Realising that he had been silent for too long, Walter stood on uncertain legs and indicated the bed politely before pulling himself up to sit atop the upper bunk. A move which had the unfortunate consequence of putting him directly in the eyeline of his new room mate, such was his incredible height.

At this close range, more details of the man became apparent.

A clean, crescent-shaped scar decorated the bridge of his nose and his face was scored with wrinkled lines which made his age difficult to discern. The unkempt brows, as speckled with grey and white as his scalp, were relaxed but as Walter continued to be drawn in with his inspection of the mysterious man they raised slightly.

Face reddening, Walter swung his legs atop the bunk and lay flat against the bed.

He did not want to offend or instigate a fight as every natural survival sense in his body screamed their disapproval of the current situation.

“I'm Walter.” He offered after a moment, the silence of the room weighing on him. “Walter Johnson. You got a name, guy?”

A low noise, similar to a guffaw, met him before the hoarse answer floated from below.

“A name?” A pause. “If a name is what you need then you may call me,” another pause, “Jonathan.”

“Jonathan.” Walter repeated. “That's your name?”

“Yes. That'll do.”

Too unsettled to continue the conversation, Walter instead turned to face the wall and allowed his mind to wander but, even as sleep took him, his thoughts were filled with thin limbs and a gaze of utter darkness.

X-x-x-x-x

A shiver brought him to consciousness.

In the waking moments, before his memories hit him with the force of a truck, all he could think about was the cold and why it seemed to exist within his bones.

And then the memories returned.

The arrest. The asylum. The man.

A shiver of an entirely different nature hit him and the air within the room shifted in response. He could not continue on like this. His fear of the common area, of the other inmates, was near eclipsed by the uncertainty which Jonathan, his new cellmate, speared into his heart.

It was incomparable and he could not stay within this room.

Slipping his legs off the side of the bunk, Walter dropped to the floor gracefully.

Black eyes followed him.

“Leaving?” Jonathan asked, expression devoid of any emotion.

“Just,” Walter faltered, “going into the common area. You're welcome to come if you want?” He offered, wishing for anything but.

“No.”

Relief.

“Oh, okay.” A lame response but nothing else came to mind. Turning back to the door, Walter moved towards it with heavy footsteps as he focussed on the stark whiteness of the wall to his side. However, as he went to step through the door, an issue presented itself.

Another inmate blocked the doorway.

Hair blonde and expression laced with unnatural anger, his tone was aggressive as he asked.

“Is there another guy in here?”

“Yes?”

Politely walking by the inmate who had invited himself into his cell, Walter was content to allow him to have his audience with his unnatural cellmate. More luck to him. Unfortunately, the flash of the knife which was clasped within the fist of the man forced the decision of intervention or ignorance before him as it flashed in the dim light.

Moving on instinct, Walter turned back into the room immediately to warn Jonathan.

“He has a knife!”

The words burst forth from his lips but, moving forwards, the inmate paid no mind to Walters' shouted warning of his incoming attack as he struck downwards with his hidden blade, his intent to maim or kill Jonathan clear.

In the span of a blink, Jonathan seemed to disappear from his prone position on the bed only to reappear standing directly before his would-be attacker. Going in for a second shot, the inmate growled in rage before driving the blade into Jonathans' collar.

An odd, almost strangled noise escaped Walters' throat as he viewed the killing blow but it just as quickly turned to one of surprise as he watched the bent blade drop to the floor uselessly.

Obviously unharmed, bony hands shot out like lightning and attached themselves to the upper arms of the inmate, pinning him into place with seemingly no effort as Jonathan held his attacker still.

“Fool.” He hissed out from between greying teeth, his rage clear in the burning of his dark eyes. “Absolute fool. To think you could harm me. I have seen dangers and survived onslaughts which your mind could scarcely comprehend without losing itself to nothingness.”

The sense of oppressive danger in the room was so great that Walters' breath was coming to him in shortening gasps while his limbs shook from the effort of keeping himself upright.

Not overly religious, Walter was still a Christian man and he could sense something was wrong with this situation. Gooseflesh broke out along his limbs as the hairs on his neck stood to attention.

Something evil stood within the room.

As Walter issued another silent prayer, he flinched in surprise as Jonathans' irritated gaze flicked to him for a moment, seemingly aware of what he was thinking, before flicking back to his prey.

Frozen in place, or perhaps accepting of the grave mistake he had made, every shade of colour had drained from the face of the inmate as he faced his fate.

Inhaling deeply, Jonathan almost seemed to be tasting the air.

“I can feel it.” He spoke and his voice was as clear as a bell with all trace of hoarseness gone. “The darkness within you. The corruption. So many doctors, so many false diagnosis. You are not a lunatic nor are you ill. You invite terror into those you victimise and you will receive as you project.”

As Jonathan shifted his face towards the inmate, Walter could sense that something terrible was to occur but he could barely gather enough breath to issue the requests for leniency which were trapped within him.

Jonathan placed his dry, cracked lips gently on the forehead on the inmate he continued to keep pinned with his unnatural strength and the temperature of the room dropped as he simultaneously let go of the stricken man.

Immediately upon release, the inmate stood dumb for a moment before his eyes widened in terror. Gaze darting around the room, a shrill cry of pure horror drew from his lips as he cowered from some unknown assailant and the raw emotion was enough to chill Walters' blood.

Genuine terror shone in the mans' expression as he dropped to his knees and continued to scream.

After what seemed like an eternity of raw screaming, two orderlies appeared at the door, drawn by the commotion, and they shared a quick look between them.

“What happened?” The first orderly demanded.

“I,” Walter flinched as another unearthly scream drew from the sobbing man, “have no idea. He walked into the cell and just fell to the floor.”

“Who is he?” Speaking to the other orderly and ignoring Walter, the first orderly indicated the fallen man.

“Fuck if I know?” The second orderly answered gruffly. “Lets just throw him in isolation until he calms down.” Ducking down, he slipped his arms under the inmate and started to drag him out. “Help me, eh?” He continued, nodding towards the legs.

Sighing, the first orderly followed the instruction and the two were soon gone, the gradually lowering screams of the foolish inmate indicating their furthering distance.

“They will not fix him.” Jonathan informed Walter quietly. “He is beyond their help.”

“What did you do?” Walter asked weakly, his grip on the bunk bed lacking as he used it for leverage. His knees were moments away from collapse and all his energy was put into staying upright.

“Nothing outwith my jurisdiction.” Jonathan responded, a strange smile twisting the corners of his thin mouth as he retook his position on the lower bunk.

“You,” Walter struggled to put what he had just witnessed into words, “paralysed him with fear. You destroyed his mind. With a kiss.”

“There is nothing more dangerous than a kiss.” Answering, Jonathan gave Walter a heavy look. “A fact any man who possesses an unplanned child with a woman he only came to love after conception should be aware of.”

World tilting, Walter shifted backwards until his back struck the hard expanse of wall.

“What are you?” He begged, unsure if he truly wanted an answer.

Smile widening to expose his grey teeth, Jonathan inclined his head.

“I am that which does what is necessary, as I am needed to do it.”

Unable to stop himself, or perhaps just overcome by everything which had just occurred, Walters' vision darkened and he slumped to the ground in a heap.

x-x-x-x-x

Pain blossoming across his jaw drew Walter harshly from his unconscious state as a cry of pain escaped his lips. Eyes opening in shock, Walter was unable to discern what was happening as a strong force knocked him across the floor. Coughing away the pain, he was surprised to find a man standing over him, his body shrouded in shadow by the night and the dim light of the room.

“Hey, buddy.”

A sharp kick into his side created another gasp of agony as the unknown man again assaulted him.

“Name's Lyle.” He announced to Walter. “Lyle Bolton. I run the security in this here establishment and it's my job to keep animals like you in your place.” Extracting the black nightstick from its holster, Bolton tapped it against Walters' leg twice before tucking it under his arm.

“What the fuck man?” Walter exclaimed, too shocked to move from his prone position, his side aching as he clutched both it, and the organs within, protectively.

“You met my buddy, David, the other day.” Bolton explained, crouching down before Walter. “Although you might know him better as 'Officer Smythe', and poor David was almost too upset to tell me about the burst lip you gave him as he tried to exercise his right as a officer of the law.”

Glancing at the lower bunk, it was only now that Walter realised that his cellmate had disappeared. Whether Jonathan had left of his own accord or been hoisted out to allow this attack to occur, Walter did not know, but he suspected the latter would be a difficult task indeed.

“He assaulted me.” Walter snapped at Bolton as he drew his attention back to the security guard. “Tried to get me pulled up on bullshi-”

Smack.

Drawing his hand back, Bolton rubbed it against his leg to alleviate the sting.

“Let's not tell lies now,” he chuckled, “animals like you are all the same and it's the job of people like me to keep you in check.”

Vulnerability crept into Walter as the situation truly hit him.

He was powerless in this situation as any attempt at self-defence would be viewed as an offence and result in further trouble.

“What do you want?” A fair question, softly asked.

“To teach you a lesson.” A harsh answer, openly given.

Holding the nightstick up, Bolton offered an unapologetic shrug as he swung downwards, his teeth baring with the effort.

Shutting his eyes in preparation of the brutal blow to come, Walter attempted to curl into an even smaller target. He was no fighter. All he could hope was that he survived the assault with as little injury as possible. However, his thoughts were soon halted by a gasp of surprise.

As no hit landed, he cracked open one eye and was immediately stricken by the sight.

Jonathan had returned, or at least, something resembling him had.

Even in the darkness of the room, the scraps of clothing which was wrapped around Jonathan in a rag-like fashion were so black that they shamed the night itself. His thin limbs were much more visible and their sickly appearance was only emphasised by the dark cloth which hung loosely from them. But what struck Walter the most was the appearance of his hands as one hung freely while the other wrapped around Boltons' throat, holding him aloft with as much effort as a hawk holding a mouse.

The fingers of the hands were elongated beyond human capabilities and their curved appearance gave them the distinct look of claws as they clutched their prey within them. Walter had seen such claws before but they were attached to the legs of one of the many vultures which were hosted within Gotham Zoo. As they glinted in the faint light Walter was struck by the knowledge that these claws were somehow infinitely more dangerous and had seen much more violence in their time.

And then there were the wings.

As pitch-black as the clothing which decorated their host, they even seemed to absorb the light around them as they twitched in obvious anger. The feathers were shaped like daggers and looked equally as sharp as they rippled and shuddered with every movement. Oddly beautiful despite their threatening aura, Walter felt the, frankly, maddening urge to reach out and stroke one of the feathers but he quickly suppressed such foolishness.

“I wondered what evil had drawn me to this place,” gone was the hoarseness and the curious lilt of Jonathans' earlier tones, replaced by an authoritative snarl which was terrible to behold, “and I was content to remain in the shadows until it revealed itself but here we are.”

Unable to answer due to the claws restricting his windpipe, Boltons' expression was of horror, pure and untainted as he beheld the creature before him.

“You are not the only evil to exist within these walls but the darkness which dwells within you and poisons those whom serve under you is a cancer.” Jonathan continued, appraising the struggling guard. “You inspire those who should help the unfortunate to mistreat them in a similar fashion to your own. How many threats have you followed through? How many silenced voices and broken bones? You are a brute and you betray the very principles you should serve.”

Leaning in, Jonathan brought Bolton down to eye-level.

“Your fear is well founded. Removing you won't stop the cancer of this establishment but it will be a happy start.”

_This is not for your eyes._

A familiar hoarse voice within Walters' head echoed the instruction at him and his terror was so great that he clamped his eyes shut tightly enough that bright sparks flew before them. He had seen enough of this creature, which presented itself as a man, to know that some things are better not observed.

A sickening snap met his ears followed by several more of an equal decibel, each accompanied by a muffled scream of varying agony which caused an involuntary flinch of Walters' entire being. A small part of his consciousness wondered briefly if this were a dream. If he would awaken in his bed, wife by his side and son wedged somewhere in between.

The only kink in this particular thought process was his absolute certainty that what was happening was real.

Disassociating from the horrific display which was no doubt occurring just a few feet from his prone body, Walter occupied his mind with warm thoughts of his son as he ignored the stab of despair which their unwilling separation was causing him.

_Open._

Dragged from his thoughts, whatever mental barriers Walter had been using to shield himself from harm were broken and he was immediately met with the coppery scent of fresh blood, potent enough to cause him to retch. Slamming a hand against his mouth, he fought the urge.

_Open your eyes._

Unable to resist the voice, Walter snapped his eyes open and was met with Jonathans' steady gaze. His peripheral vision was enough to pick up on the large collection of dark-shaped objects which lay in a discarded pile in the space immediately below where Bolton had been held in place.

Limbs.

Torn apart by unnatural strength.

Retching again, his hand flew to his mouth as Walter attempted to keep the burning sensation of the vomit in his throat from escaping. A quick movement from Jonathan and a clawed hand appeared before his face, held out to him in a helpful manner, as the creature offered support.

With a burst of immeasurable courage, Walter accepted it and was instantly hoisted to his feet.

“You do not belong here.” Jonathan commented, voice hoarse once again, and it was only as he spoke that Walter realised that he no longer represented a damned creature of unnatural origin but had reverted to the human form which Walter had first observed in the common room.

“I was only trying to get hom-” Walter confessed. Breath catching in his throat, he was almost sobbing he was so afraid.

Jonathan tilted his head, looking down at the virtually broken man.

“You have an innocent soul.”

Having no response to such a comment, Walter did not contest the assessment.

“You who would attempt to warn me of a fools attack. You who were innocent of his accused crimes. You who cherishes his loved ones and entertains little though of violence. You do not belong here.”

Arms snapping out and latching onto his shoulders to pin him in place, Walter could only blink back unwilling tears as he faced his fate. The echoes of the inmate from the morning, driven insane after being held in a similar position, bounced around his skull as Jonathans' gaunt face approached him.

“I will free you.”

Rooted with fear, the last thought to pass through Walters' mind as he felt the rough, cold lips press against his forehead was of his family and how he would give anything to have had more time with them.

No sooner had the lips made contact than a bright light assaulted him and forced him to snap his eyes shut once more. At the same moment, the sensation of being held in place lifted from him and his back connected with something soft.

Breathing erratically as he gathered his wits, he cracked one eye open gently and was met with another strange sight as the night sky unfolded before him.

Gazing upwards at the moon, Walter could not understand how it was visible through the roof and it was only as his gaze faltered downwards that the highest point of Wayne Tower, far off in the distance, became apparent.

Swirling his hands along the ground, he could tell the softness which he lay upon was grass as the dew clung to his skin and clothing.

His clothing.

The asylum jumpsuit was gone and, as Walter scanned his body, he found that he was clothed in a simple white shirt with black slacks.

Head swinging from side-to-side he was able to deduce that he was laying on the side of one of the many hills which decorated South Gotham and were often used for basic agriculture if the conditions were good enough. However, as he turned to the right, another sight caught his eye.

Documents, a handful of them, lay by his side and as Walter flicked through them quickly an absurd burp of laughter caught him off guard.

An arrest report. Admittance file. Contraband record.

All the evidence of his arrest and incarceration was held within his hands and without these documents there would be no record of anything which had transpired over the last two days.

At least, not in the eyes of the authorities.

Walter doubted he would ever possess the same joyful ignorance.

As he sorted through the documents again, the laughter he had tried to contain broke free. His mouth stretching comically wide as he hollered and chuckled away at the turn of events. To any observer it would seem that he was having a grand old time, a man on the receiving end of some impressive joke.

So lost in his own emotion, it was not until he felt the fat tears which were rolling down his cheeks hit his chest and soak through his shirt that he realised he was openly sobbing. The stress and trauma of his last two days erupting from him in a raw display of grief for the time he had lost and the experiences he had been forced to undergo.

But even through his tears, his thoughts drifted to Jonathan.

He was no man.

He was no holy creature; he had helped him, that much was true, but he had also committed acts which were nothing less than horrific. Profane.

A demon then.

However, he _had_ helped. A true demon, a creature of despair and hell, would never have allowed him to leave and return to a happy life with his wife and son with all trace of his incarceration erased.

What was it Jonathan had said?

_I am that which does what is necessary, as I am needed to do it._

The thought that a more powerful force controlled the actions of a creature as terrifying as whatever Jonathan truly represented was enough to leave Walter breathless and he shook such considerations from his head.

It was time to go home.

Using the thought of finally hugging his wife and son again as the strength he needed to move, Walter pushed himself to shaky legs and started his hurried descent of the hill, the darkness of the night creeping along behind him.

 


End file.
